


We Will Raise Warriors

by Elise_Davidson



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Stargate Atlantis, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, No really there IS A PLAN, Rating subject to change, i have a plan I swear, no beta we die like Jedi during 66, we also die like troopers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: Din didn't think he'd really see Grogu again, not in the physical sense.But then a Jetii is fighting with him, and there are greater enemies to consider, and, if nothing else, Din is always ready for a fight.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 108





	1. Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I have a passing knowledge of Star Wars lore, but I can't help shipping these guys, and I'm just looking to get my feet wet.
> 
> Fair warning; I feel like Luke would have found just as much info about Mandalore as Din would have found about the Jedi, which is why Luke speaks Mando'a here. Probably should've made a note about how space!twink didn't say it right. Well, *rolls my eyes to the Star Wars galaxy and back*, I think Luke might have managed.
> 
> Um, enjoy?

It was never a war he agreed to fight, the _Jetii_ against the _Mando’ade_.

Paz would call him an idiot. Din isn’t sure he would disagree.

Still, when the _Jetii_ sends a holo-message requesting his presence at the behest of Grogu, Din isn’t sure he has it in him to flat-out deny it. It _has_ been a while--nearly two years, if he thinks about it hard enough, and Din makes a point of _never_ thinking about how long it has been--and if the _Jetii_ is giving askance for his appearance, than Grogu’s attachment must not be as severe a risk as Ahsoka thought.

Din personally thought that lack of attachment was downright stupid, but it wasn’t his culture. In any case, in his line of profession, he had learned to never judge.

What didn’t help was that the coordinates the _Jetii_ had sent him were for Mos Eisley, and Din wasn’t exactly... _thrilled_ about that. So he sends a message back, succinct and to the point, that he would feel much better about Mos Pelgo.

He couldn’t say he loved Tatooine, not with the way the sand blew unpredictably and the volatile heat. But the people were private enough, and he could stop by Mos Eisley to see Peli to see about repairs to his ship while he met with the _Jetii_ in Mos Pelgo. He _trusted_ Peli; Peli was the only reason he’d lay his ship down in Mos Eisley.

His new ship wasn’t the _Razor Crest_ , but then what ship would be? He had gotten the ship from a scrapyard on Jakku for a suspiciously low price. He suspected the junker didn’t know what he had, or the ship itself was so old that said-scrapper didn’t care to haggle.

Either way, Din hadn’t named it yet, and it was serviceable enough for his line of work.

It takes two days before the _Jetii_ responds in affirmation that Mos Pelgo is certainly serviceable, and will see him in one week, if that time is agreeable.

Din huffs to himself in the silence of his ship. It wasn’t like he was ever that far from Tatooine, not since a decent amount of his (surprisingly) legitimate bounties came from Fett. He definitely has the time now to see Peli about ship repairs, even if she lets the droids work on it.

He hates the droids no less, but the past two years have been a blur of bounties and drink and occasional visits with Cara, and honestly, with the prospect of at least seeing the man who had taken his son (he holds no hope that he’ll see Grogu himself), he is more than willing to at least trust that Peli will do the majority of the work herself versus letting the mindless droids have at it.

Peli is nothing if not ascertaining, and understands her work is better than droids.

So Din finds himself settling down on Tatooine, running his ship through power-down procedures. The ships hum as they calm (though they do so without the little stutter that the _Razor Crest_ would have), and he touches a hand over his thigh to where a small silver ball sits in his pocket. He shakes his head, already cursing the heat of Tatooine. Gods though, Jakku is worse.

After a brief conversation with Peli, he heads to check in with Fett, not only to chat, but to turn in one of the bounties he had been on.

Fett nods at him approvingly when the Rodian female is tossed, bound and gagged, at his feet. “Talker?”

Din tilts his head. “Lucky she didn’t get carbonite.”

Fett shrugs. “One way or another, collect your credits. Don’t be a stranger, eh?”

Din snorts, but goes to see Fett’s accountant to collect wealth he never uses, and checks in with Shand before exiting the Hutt’s Lair.

He supposes it’s Fett’s Palace now, or such nonsense. He doesn’t really care.

Din sees Peli once more to check in about the amount of time required for his ship, and proceeds to Mos Pelgo on a speeder. It’s going to take a few days for the fixes to his ship, but Din knows that it’s only because Peli is doing most of the work herself. He pays her easily with a generous tip, and only gives vague answers as to the Child’s well-being.

It takes him out of himself, back to that startling moment on Gideon’s ship, his helmet removed, his face bare against starkly cold air, a sad child’s understanding about good-byes, and an aloof _Jetii_ standing before him in everlasting judgment.

Din was no fool; in two years’ time, he had spent some of it researching the _Jetii_ i. There was surprisingly little to be found. But then, the Empire was good at wiping up any traces of things to be eliminated, and Din had found himself resorting to asking Bo-Katan, Fett, and Paz.

Things were...complicated, to say the least.

Paz hated the _Jetiise_ with such passion that it seemed to bleed out of his helmet’s modulator. His helmet tilted down enough that Din was certain that his eyes were on the Darksaber, and Din didn’t like that much more.

Fett shrugged, when asked about the Jedi. His inflection and demeanor changed quickly once brought up, and only responded that he’d known one, once, and really, he didn’t need to relive getting out of a Sarlacc pit, so if they could discuss other things?

Shand had pointedly raised her rifle, as if checking the scope, but Din knew better.

Bo-Katan was...shockingly placid about the subject of the _Jetii_. She knew Ahsoka, of course, and had known other Jedi. Well, she referred to them in the old tongue as _Jetii_ , and while she did not speak of them in a fond sort of way, there was still a sense of respect. She hadn’t recognized the _Jetii_ who had come for Grogu, but did relay the centuries-long hatred between their cultures. Surprisingly enough, she never brought up the Darksaber, though her fierce eyes strayed to it almost as often as Paz’s, if not more. She seemed sure in her knowledge, and not for the first time, Din envied her knowledge of Mandalorian culture. It was an easy passage for her, though no less painful. Whatever information Bo-Katan had of the _Jetii_ , it clearly still stung her in places that were revealed more in the tight line of her lips and furrowed line of her brows.

In any case, it didn’t bode well.

Din tried hard not to think about it much as he sped towards Mos Pelgo; the Armorer had never said anything about _Jetii_ , so how deeply embedded could the bitterness lie?

When he arrived at the cantina in Mos Pelgo, Vanth was there and waiting with an easy smile, a drink in his hand.

Naturally, Din declined the drink, but sat down with an ally. The conversation was easy-going, until a hush came over the room and Din felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up under the helmet.

A hooded figure had entered, and there was no denying the sense of _power_ that suddenly came down like a storm of calm. A pair of fighting Twi’lek males suddenly relaxed as a female Toydarian fluttered between them. The droid bartender suddenly had no trouble with the argumentative Ugnaught who had abruptly relaxed at his drink being substituted with a different liquor. There had been a violently drunk Wookie, snarling in Shyriiwook, who quite shockingly stood down against the bouncer and exited the cantina with no more fight.

Vanth shot Din a look that spoke volumes, mostly a look of _what the fuck did you bring here_ , but it was a trusting sort of thing; fragile and thin.

The hooded figure approached their table with little fanfare. “Thank you for meeting me, _Mand’alor_.”

Din huffed at the pronunciation, even though his own _Mando’a_ was rusty. “How is the Child?”

Vanth turned his head toward the hooded figure at this as well. “Cute little womp rat, he was. I hope he’s okay?”

The hooded figure only had attention for Din. “He is well.”

Din sat back in his seat, and while he didn’t intend to drink his cup, he tilted and fidgeted with the cup in a gloved hand. “Why have you asked me here?”

“Well, my home planet was worth a revisit. If nothing else, it reminded me that I hate hot weather,” the hooded figure murmured with a hint of amusement to his tone.

Din frowned underneath the helmet. _Home planet? Who the fuck is this guy?_

Vanth seemed to understand a tension that hadn’t been there before. He finished his clear glass of brown-shaded liquor. “Mando,” he acknowledged, tilting his hand in a two-fingered salute.

“Vanth,” Din responded. His voice modulator covered his gratefulness, but Vanth seemed to understand all the same.

Vanth looked at the hooded figure with a smirk. “Jedi,” and this time he unfairly bowed a bit before exiting the cantina.

The _Jetii_ huffed in annoyance. “Wish they wouldn’t call me that,” he muttered before turning to the server that had approached their table. “Glass of bantha milk please? Cold, if you can?”

Din still worked his fingers around the glass of untouched alcohol. “Bantha milk?”

The _Jetii_ shrugged. “Old habits, nostalgia, whatever else you want to call it.”

There was a cynicism to the _Jetii_ that Din didn’t like. “A _Jetii_ grew up here?” He didn’t care if his tone came through as anything other than incredulous through his vocom.

The _Jetii_ shrugged. “Wasn’t born here; just raised.” He took the glass of blue milk gratefully, and sipped from it, as if savoring a taste of a life long gone. “I’ve done some research on Mandalorian cuisine, for your son.”

Din snorts. “You’d have better luck feeding him frogs.”

The _Jetii_ ducks his head, hiding some sort of expression under the dark hood of his cloak. “Perhaps,” he admits. With a sigh, the _Jetii_ tilts his face further toward the counter. “He misses you.”

Din takes a deep breath, still fidgeting with the glass of rainbow-colored liquor that Vanth had ordered him. “I heard _Jetii_ don’t deal with attachments.”

“My name is Luke; you don’t have to keep thinking of me as _Jetii_ ,” the man mutters, and Din finds that his voice is gone.

As by creed, Din never offers anything that can identify him as any one person or another. He is meant, by _Resol’nare_ , to be anonymous, if only because the bounties he completes are meant to provide credits for a Covert he is no longer sure exists. There is something in the _Jetii_ voice, something in his slumped stance over fucking _bantha milk_ (of all things), that makes him sigh and slump with him.

“Can we speak elsewhere?” Din hears his vocom relating, and the _Jetii_ looks up with interest, a quick flash of blue eyes that disappear just as quickly.

“ _Gar ad’ika_ would like to see you,” the _Jetii_ says.

Din sucks in a breath that only comes through as a huff. He makes a quick decision, disengaging the airlocks on his helmet to down his drink. It only exposes his mouth, but he can feel the _Jetii_ gaze.

“I suppose we shouldn’t deny him,” Din says as casually as he can, even as his hands shake. “It’s been two years.”

The _Jetii_ sighs unhappily, but Din doesn’t pay much attention, and really, it’s for many more reasons than Din can parse out.

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” the _Jetii_ murmurs, as they exit the cantina. “ _Aay’han_ ,” and the breath between them seems to stop, and now they’re in a dark alley between the bar and the next building, “ _Aliit ori’shya tal’din._ ” Again, as if sighing to himself, the _Jetii_ stops in the dark. “ _Mhi ba’jri verde_.”

Din stops in place, leaning against the wall of the alley. “ _Elek_?”

And then a bomb goes off, and it’s only seconds before Din can make it out through his visor that the _Jetii_ had protected them both.

Din’s ears are ringing, and all he can tell is that the _Jetii_ is still covering him.

The _Jetii_ breathes around them, an aura of tranquility and storm. “Hear me,” he breathes, over Din’s armored shoulder, “ _Be_ with me.”

Din sucks a breath in again, until he sees Grogu peeking curiously over the shoulder of the _Jetii_ , huge brown eyes anxious and excited. Something surges deeply in his gut, and Din grins beneath his helmet.

The _Jetii_ snarks a smile at him, inhibited by history and choice. “You with me?” the _Jetii_ calls, boyishly young and attractive.

With a smirk, Din gets to his feet and fumbles until he can get Grogu safe into a pouch on his hip. “You understand _mando’a_?”

The _Jetii_ shrugs, cutting down two enemies at once. “I speak enough,” he responds haugtily.

With a tilt of his helmet and his ears still ringing, he declines to mention the man's accent.

Grogu coos, as if trying to murmur _b’wir_.

Din finds it as good a reason to fight as any other.

XXXXX

Edited to add translations; I was so uppity about getting this posted that I utterly forgot to add in any translations. I apologize so much! The second chapter is in the works, I'm planning on getting to the comments tonight. Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! Translations to follow:

_Mando'ade--_ Mandalorians

_Jetii_ \--Jedi

_Mand'alor_ \--Leader of Mandalore

_Resol'nare_ \--The Creed of all Mandalorians, or Six actions that form the central tenets of Mandalorian life (armor, language, defense, raising foundlings, contributing to the clan's welfare, and, when called upon by the _Mand'alor_ , rallying to their cause)

_Gar ad'ika_ \--your child

_Aay'han_ \--pain of a bittersweet memory or moment, "remembering and celebration" (notes on this post translation)

_Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ \--Family is more than blood

_Mhi ba'jri verde_ \--We will raise warriors

_Elek_ \--Yes

"b'wir"/Buir--parent

If it seems like the _Mando'a_ that Luke uses is awfully convenient, it's because 1) it sort of is, and 2) the biggest explanation I can give without spoiling anything is just like Din, Luke probably did some research as well. This will come up in the next chapter, but I will go ahead and say it's because Luke mostly tried to find the core tenets of Mandalorian culture. There will be more detail about this later.

Also, I used the painful memory thing because I feel like Luke was just getting ready to reunite them (seeing as Grogu is with him at the end), but sensed something off in the force. Being that his _Mando'a_ isn't exactly fluent (this was also edited since Luke seemed to imply he was), he may not have known a better word to warn Din.

Thanks to loubega for pointing out that I didn't put the translations in. Thank you again all!


	2. Handprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new enemy whispers on the horizon, and it threatens the Force in a way that Luke cannot ignore, and shakes Din in a way that he can't explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a shiny new plot, complete with an enemy! Also bringing more of snarky Luke and temperamental Din.
> 
> Note, this chapter is from Luke's POV. I don't always plan to shift that way, but some things needed explaining and enough of it was force-related that I felt it necessary to write it like this. I will always let you guys know when there is a POV shift.
> 
> Lastly, I am blown away by the response to this!! I usually write in niche fandoms with really rare pairs, so this is has been lovely. Thank you so much, and I genuinely hope you enjoy!!

It was more of a testament to Grogu’s power than his own that Luke sensed something off in the Force at all. The warning was no different than if someone had flicked him across the nose, but it was enough. It was enough for him to clumsily warn the Mandalorian as best he could before shielding them all with the Force before rambling out the few other phrases he knew in Mando'a in an attempt to calm the taller man.

It was more truth than Luke expected to feel as the foreign words rushed away from his mouth. It did the trick though and Luke, ever annoyed at Grogu’s reunion with his father being interrupted, responded to said-father with needless snark. It was a go-to self-defense mechanism in the face of stress, developed over many years with Han and Chewie (and Leia, though he’d never admit it).

Now, however, there was chaotic, smoky panic, and the Mandalorian was grabbing his shoulder. “Were you followed?” came the modulated voice with no hint of distress.

“Not possible,” Luke shook his head through gritted teeth, though now he was doubting himself as to the truth of his words. They had left in a hurry, and Luke hadn't had the time to think to ask Leia or Han about a substitute ship from his X-Wing. "Well…" he trailed off in resignation.

The Mandalorian sighed, though it came out more as a grunt because of the helmet’s tech. “We should find somewhere safer, or you and the kid should; that entire cantina seemed to know what you were the minute you walked in.”

Luke _did_ bristle at that. “And they didn't know what you were the minute you walked in?” he shot back. “Nevermind that the bomb itself was Force-dampened,” he muttered, but the other seemed to hear it anyway.

A grunted swear has the Mandalorian drawing his blaster; the other hand nestled a pouch at his side.

Reluctant to draw his saber just yet (not if he can help it), Luke asked, “So, hidden? Or try to find out who would come after you?”

“Me?” he projected forcefully, “Why me?”

Luke rolled his eyes, wiggling his fingers at him. “ _Mand’alor_? Darksaber? Prolific bounty hunter?” He was really just going off of what Grogu has shown him in broken, biased (very loving) images, but it seemed to serve its purpose.

“And if they knew _anything_ about my reputation,” he responded darkly, “They’d know better to attack me _here_ , or at all.” He almost sounded offended. “And didn’t you say that the bomb was different?”

They’d been walking as they talked. Luke followed, albeit reluctantly. He was at least a hair more familiar with Mos Eisley than Mos Pelgo, but between the fractured warning in the Force and Grogu’s increasingly erratic behavior, Luke had agreed to whatever terms the Mandalorian had made for any sort of meeting. He had no regrets; Grogu’s Force-signature at the moment (anxious, but not scared) had calmed and lightened considerably in the presence of his father.

Luke wished his own would do the same. There was still an echo of shattered alarms all over the Force, but he couldn’t parse out which of the three it was directed towards.

The Mandalorian stopped abruptly with an outstretched arm. His vambrace knocked into Luke’s collar bone through his cloak. “Wait here,” he said gruffly before swiftly moving on.

Well, that just wasn’t going to happen. Luke had never been one to listen the first time to anything, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t more than capable of protecting all three of them, beskar armor and Grogu or not. He was not without his own defenses, and, to be frank, there was no chance in any side of the galaxy that he was going to leave Grogu’s side when the Force was still weakly attempting to warn him.

Luke had to jog to catch up as grumpy memories of the Tatooine heat swam through his mind. “I’m not leaving Grogu.”

The Mandalorian turned in surprise, blaster drawn directly to Luke’s face as if he hadn't expected anyone to follow.

With a tranquil hand, Luke used two fingers to tilt the blaster away from his face as his head cocked to the opposite side. “No need for that, I would think. And really, do you think I can’t defend myself and Grogu and you?”

It was the Mandalorian’s turn to bristle with what Luke imagined must be a displeased stare. Sometimes, however, Luke didn’t know when to quit, and was just shy of mentioning how they had met the first time, before the other man grunted and jerked his helmet in a direction.

Luke bit his tongue and continued to follow, noting how Grogu peeked up from the hip pouch with a gleeful smile and a wavy of a tiny fist.

Typical. At least Grogu was happy and the Mandalorian seemed well enough off to simply have a destination in mind.

XXXXX

Having arrived at Vanth’s office and apparent relative safety (according mostly to Grogu since the armored man was _ever_ so forthcoming), Luke took a moment to excuse himself to a relatively secluded space behind the strip of buildings that lined the street. He mostly just needed a minute to understand the warnings that the Force was trying to weakly wail at him.

And an abject, tiny cry it was, almost as if it--

... _didn't want to bother him_?

Like frowned from his seated position in the shaded sand. That couldn't be it, could it? As much as Masters Yoda and Obi-Wan might insist that the Force wasn't a person, Luke found his experience to be vastly different. He tried pulling toward the broken sense of fear, but it shrank away like a wounded animal.

A door slammed shut from a nearby building; it was just loud enough to knock his concentration off and he jumped where he sat as a cold epiphany smacked him square in the face.

The Force was _afraid_. Well, perhaps that was the wrong term. Luke could feel the fading apprehension all the same and struggled to wrap his mind around it. No wonder Grogu had become so agitated recently, and near desperate to see his father. That same thread of disaster was probably nagging at him too, and while the little one had made a lot of headway through managing his emotions through meditation, he was still a _child_. These feelings were big enough to throw Luke off balance, let alone someone so small.

Luke sighed as he rose and dusted off his cloak and pants. As he came back to more of himself, he could sense Grogu wondering where he went, and the duller edge of the Mandalorian right next to him. There was a curiosity there as well, though Luke couldn't read it as clearly. He sighed, mostly to the dry desert air, and approached the armored man with eyes drawn to the small green face poking out with a nervous stare.

“It’ll be alright, little one,” Luke said soothingly, holding out his left hand.

Grogu cooed mournfully with huge dark eyes peering up at him as tiny claws wrapped around Luke’s fingers in a self-comforting gesture.

“Is the kid okay?”

Luke jerked a bit at the modulated tone, staring up at a faceless visor. The memory of the Mandalorian's face was something haunted, once he had learned what it meant for a Child of the Watch to remove their helmet in front of currently-living beings. Clear as ever, the dark eyes were a ghost of a long-dead family and a future extinguished by an unbalanced galaxy.

Shaking his head of the thought, Luke simply nodded. “Grogu is fine,” he answered, proud of the way his voice was only a little strained. As he looked down, he eyed the hilt of the darksaber briefly. “You learn how to use that yet?”

The Mandalorian put a protective hand over it. “Well enough. Are you challenging?”

Luke snorted. “I think I’ve got my hands full enough with trying to restore the Jedi; you think I want Mandalore too?”

Whatever reaction Luke had been expecting, it wasn’t for the Mandalorian to snort through his vocom, as if stifling a laugh, before extricating Grogu from the pouch and offering him over to Luke.

“I only know of one who wants Mandalore,” the taller man finally responded as Luke took Grogu with comforting, steady hands. “And she won’t challenge me for it until the time is right.”

Luke had many questions; the New Republic’s archives were somewhat stilted when it came to documents on Mandalore, even more so on the former Jedi Order. Before he could ask any of them, they were once again interrupted.

Vanth swung the back door open. “I’ve been given an all-clear. Whoever set that bomb off, they’re long gone,” he offered in a friendly enough voice, with just enough seriousness that indicated he understood the severity of the action. “I’m still getting casualty reports.” Vanth disappeared back into his office.

The Mandalorian sighed. “What did you fly here in?”

Luke hesitated, remembering his earlier doubts as to whether or not he had been followed.

“Well?”

With a sigh, Luke glared at the sands of Tatooine, struggling now to remember any of the last happy memories he’d ever had here. “An X-Wing.”

The Mandalorian hesitated now, though it was more in disbelief than reluctance. “... _an X-Wing_.”

“Grogu was very...insistent; he was upset and we both knew something was coming. We had to--”

“You don’t fly across the galaxy in a Rebellion-era _X-Wing_!” Even with the robotic sound of his voice, Luke could hear and feel the fury.

“We didn’t have much time or choice!” Luke snapped back. He didn’t make it through the war all for some Boba Fett-look-alike to unilaterally judge his decisions, especially when he knew that he made the best option out of a load of bad ones. It was a startling thought when Luke realized he was near toe-to-toe with the other.

The Mandalorian looked ready to answer with a hand on his blaster when Vanth shouldered the back office’s back door open again.

“Yo, Mando,” Vanth called. “Got a quick one for you, if you’re interested.”

The Mandalorian gave a frustrated breath before turning away from Luke and heading toward Vanth.

Luke stroked a gloved finger down Grogu’s cheek. “Shh,” he soothed, “Your father’s just worried about you. He doesn’t know the bits and pieces of it. That’s okay though; we’ll get him there.”

Grogu only peered at him sceptically.

“All things are possible, little one,” Luke said with a small smile that he only ever used for Grogu and Leia.

“--with a hole in their chest, but my officer’s saying it’s like nothing they’ve ever seen. This wasn’t blaster fire; they want someone who’s seen some corpses to take a look. We’ve all seen our fair share, but my guy is saying this is something completely different,” Luke heard Vanth’s voice continue.

Luke cocked his head toward the conversation.

“A bomb went off; what makes this body any different?” the Mandalorian asked.

Vanth sighed and gestured toward the room behind the open door. A frightened, middle-aged Twi’lek male came forward with a faint blue face that was normally a deep azure. "Go ahead, tell him."

The Twi'lek wrung his hands, his lekku drooping and almost as pale as his face. "This wasn't near the cantina. There was some kind of massacre, out by the mines. Most of the bodies could be from sand raiders, but this one…"

“I’ll see your accountant once I’ve seen your corpse,” the Mandalorian said with resignation.

Vanth tilted his head in Luke’s direction. “Might help to take your Jedi with you.”

If Luke thought the Mandalorian could squawk in sheer indignation, he would have. “He’s not my _Jetii_.”

“Nor am I anyone's property,” Luke helpfully added with just enough snark that he was damn near surprised that the Mandalorian didn’t try to pull a blaster on him again.

Vanth raised his hands in surrender. “Look, just saying; you heard what my soldier said. Sounds like something we haven’t seen, but something we could use some help with too.”

Luke stroked a finger down Grogu’s ear. “I’m not sure he should be seeing something like that.”

The Mandalorian seemed inclined to agree for once. “Take him back to my ship. Vanth can show you to my speeder. Get your way to Mos Eisley, and I’m assuming, this being your home planet, you can get around after that?”

Luke wanted to snap, but Grogu seemed agitated again, and he himself was feeling a sense of unease. “I’m coming back,” he answered rebelliously.

“The kid needs to be safe; do you understand _that_?”

“Well, shit, I’ll watch the kid, if that’s what it’s down to,” Vanth offered cheerfully enough, and gestured to the Twi'lek again. “Thy’lek can show you.”

The blue Twi’lek was hanging around the entrance of Vanth’s building, looking unsettled with trembling hands.

The Mandalorian gave a suffering sigh before plucking Grogu from Luke’s arms, as if their three hours spent together somehow made up for the two years that Luke had made them spend apart. “Your life for his; you understand?”

Vanth nodded with a seriousness that Luke hadn’t expected. “Always, brother.”

Luke walked forward to stand with them. “Don’t let him exert himself.”

The Mandalorian fished around until he brought up a small, silver, metal ball, and gave it to Grogu. “Float it around, kiddo, until we get back. Think you can do that?”

Vanth looked between the two men in an assessing sort of way as he curled his hands around Grogu. “My life for his; I won’t let the womp rat tire himself out.” It was as much of a promise as either of them could get, and Thy’lek was standing anxiously by the door. “Look, I promise, this whole town would kill so long as he’s safe.”

As if to stand by Vanth’s word, various doors opened throughout the main drive of Mos Pelgo, and Luke felt something in his chest loosen just a little.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem to relax in the slightest. “I mean it, Vanth. _Your_ life, for _his_.”

The threat went unsaid.

“It’ll take fifteen minutes, Mando,” Vanth answered. “I have townspeople to see to while you and your Jedi take your excursion at my expense.”

Something finally seemed to unwind, if not in the Mandalorian, but in the Force, and Luke could feel it when “Mando” finally relaxed enough to approach the still pallid Twi’lek known as Thy’lek.

Luke mused as to whether or not a Twi’lek known as Thy’lek had ever gotten teased.

With little time to spare, they set on a blistering pace toward a gorge in the desert. The main explosion had been almost directly beside the cantina in Mos Pelgo. Any bodies would have been in the main town. Here, in the arid sands, there were a couple of bodies littered across the surface, with what looked like blaster wounds to the chest or stomach. Some were definitely victims of sand raiders; others simply bad luck in the desert.

It truly was a short walk; they eventually came along a corpse of an old man with long white hair and sunken eyes. There was no other way to describe the man’s face as anything other than desperate _horror_. His limbs were shrunken, as if sucked away from him, and he was more skeleton than body.

The Mandalorian stiffened.

Luke felt disturbed, but said nothing in lieu of gulping against a suddenly dry throat. No blaster or bomb had done that sort of damage to this man, and Luke was suddenly extremely appreciative that they had left Grogu with Vanth, because the wound on this man’s chest was like nothing he had ever seen.

It was almost precise, and far too much like a handprint over the man’s heart cavity, or what was left of it. A palm print, over the left side of the chest, with five little dots surrounding it in the parody of fingerprints.

_Like a handprint upon one’s heart._

Luke sucked in a gasp; he couldn’t help it. The tall, armored man beside him shrugged back as if burned.

“This was not a blaster wound,” the Mandalorian said, and it wasn’t his vocom that made his voice sound like it was completely unsure. It was almost as if the helmet couldn’t hide the man’s reaction to the odd wound.

Though he hated it, Luke knelt beside the body and rested his left hand near the wound. As soon as his fingers landed on the shrunken skin, Luke jerked back in _terror_. This man’s life was sucked away as easily as one slurped soup. It was, in fact, so appalling that Luke’s legs gave out from underneath him, and he only had armored arms catching him before he fell ass-first into the sand.

He didn’t even know he was struggling for air until a smooth, modulated voice broke through the chaos of his terrible feelings; the way the dead man on the sand had slowly had his life drained away as if he were _food_ \--

“ _Hey_ ,” the Mandalorian snapped, and it served well enough to draw Luke out of his Force-enhanced trance, only to realize that the gloved hand over his chest was suddenly too overwhelming.

Luke scrambled away, blue eyes wide with fear, and struggled to dredge up the last thing said about the corpse.

_This was not a blaster wound_.

“No, it wasn’t a blaster,” Luke confirmed, though his voice came out high and weak. He scrabbled for purchase in the fragile sands. “It wasn’t a blaster.” He wasn’t sure why saying it twice would make it any more serious or real. His breath was coming faster now, and no pulling toward the comfort of the Force seemed to help.

He even reached out for Leia, as his vision tunneled.

“ _Jetii_ ,” the Mandalorian asked, and there were gloved hands grabbing at his own. “ _Jetii_!”

Leia’s response was muffled at best, shadowed by this _nightmare_ of a thing, and the only thing Luke could recall clearly as he fell back toward the sand, was a solid pair of arms catching him and gently lowering him down, down, down, until the darkness swallowed him whole.

XXXXX

When Luke awoke, he found himself in the medbay of a ship currently in hyperspace. Plenty of questions were on the tip of his tongue, but he found nearly half of them assuaged by the fact that Grogu was sitting in meditation, just as calm as their favorite lake on Yavin IV, beside Luke's bed.

There was no med droid in attendance, and he gently sat up in an effort to let Grogu meditate in relative peace (something Grogu truly hated; staying in one place for a small child was always hard; for Grogu, it could be impossible).

The next thing he noticed was the fact that the Mandalorian _(Mando?)_ sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, arms crossed against his chest. The beskar slid with little noise, but it was threatening enough.

The next thing Luke noticed was the smooth visage of the helmet, and that ghostly memory from nearly two years ago returned in full force, and he could almost imagine a worried, dark stare on the other's face. There was more to be concerned about this time, and the pulsating warning from the Force was still faintly beating in his brain.

The reason for the Force's anxiety returned when he saw the shrunken corpse on a bed in the far corner of the medbay. There were the same sightless eyes, the total draining of a life, the odd handprint over the corpse’s chest.

The Mandalorian's helmet didn't shift, even when he noticed that Luke was awake. Instead, he spoke.

“Not a blaster wound, yeah.” It wasn’t a question.

Luke thought of Master Yoda then, almost in a maniacal way. “Of our galaxy, we do not know.”

The Mandalorian looked up sharply at that, though his eyes still didn’t meet Luke’s. “What the hell happened to this man?”

Luke looked at the dead body again, before his gaze fell on Grogu, who still meditated peacefully enough. “Let him rest?”

With a sigh, the Mandalorian rose to his feet. “You both need rest. The kid said meditation would help him balance you.” He left before Luke could protest.

Luke sighed before his gaze landed in the dark corner of the medbay. The sunken eyes reminded him of his father. The handprint made him think of what his mother might have been like to his father.

An imprint on Vader’s heart--or was it Anakin’s?--that couldn’t be erased.

With an ache in his own ribs that couldn’t be chased away, Luke settled a hand over the left side of his chest. He wondered what it would be like, to be that permanent in someone’s life. The Force flowed through all living things; it was simply up to Luke to rifle through it.

His chest ached, with a handprint that Luke couldn’t decipher.

The body in the corner of the medbay lingered with a stench of other, with a scar of death, with a warning.

Luke passed out again, simply from the exhaustion of thinking about it.

XXXXX 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so if you're as big a nerd as I am, you already know what killed that man in the desert. I have spoken. I still hope to keep you guys with me!! Will update the tags tomorrow to reflect the changes without spoiling anything.
> 
> Other nerds will recognize Thy'lek, though I doubt he would appreciate the pun 😬. What's some antennae compared to lekku?
> 
> Still not beta'd, hope any mistakes weren't too bad.


	3. Remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another body turns up in a somewhat unexpected place. Luke and Leia have a conversation through the Force. Din must finally face the reality of carrying the darksaber. Luke gets a disturbing, overwhelming alarm in the Force; the Force has apparently decided to not be subtle anymore. Luke is just tired of the Force slamming into him like a cranky bantha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took to update! Work has been hell on earth lately, and it took forever to muster up the motivation to actually write. I was a little worried that I lost some readers once I introduced the Wraith :( BUT!
> 
> On a more positive note, I already have the notes drawn up for the whole thing, and I have more detailed notes done up for the fourth chapter. In any case, I really hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Luke and Leia have a conversation through a temporary Force bond. It is all in italics. The bold is just there to symbolize what feelings might be bleeding through the bond itself, though I didn't want to specify who the feelings come from.
> 
> Also, final note: this chapter came in at twice the word/page count of the previous two chapters. Can't tell if this is bad or good XD Comments and kudos are the balm to my work-weary soul!

It was some time before Luke came to again, and this time, it was with a small weight settled on his chest and the clicking of sharp nails against his shoulder. He grunted before blearily opening his eyes. The leftover feeling of the Force being _wrong_ felt much like a hangover, and he repressed the groan that he wanted to let out in favor of tapping Grogu on the nose with a small smile.

“Hello, little one,” Luke greeted him fondly. “Impatient?”

Grogu made a sort of scoffing noise that indicated he was insulted.

“Well, has your father been seeing to your meditation?”

That earned him a shifty look that Grogu couldn’t quite hide in the force.

“Ah,” Luke said with a touch of fondness. “He’s at least fed you, I assume?”

The doors to the small medbay swished open, and the Mandalorian swept in. “He was with me for two years; I know to feed him.”

Luke swallowed reflexively with a quiet click that sounded deafening in the sudden quiet. “I wouldn’t presume that you don’t know how to care for him.”

The armored man lifted one shoulder before approaching and plucking Grogu from Luke’s chest. “Come on, _ad’ika_ , time for breakfast. We’ll be stopping to resupply soon,” he directed the latter of his statements to Luke. “If you’re hungry, follow me.” He left the room without another word or glance toward the shriveled corpse still in the other corner of the room, though blessedly with a sheet draped over the remains.

Luke fought the shudder that ran through him, still feeling that weak cry from the Force. It was unsettling at best—downright terrifying to his very _core_ at worst. He struggled to shake it off as he threw his boots on and ambled after the taller man.

He found himself in a small communal area that doubled as a kitchenette. To one direction, Luke could see various armored pieces and other cabinets that likely held other weapons. The other small hallway was shadowed and had a pulley system across the ceiling with hanging brackets for, what Luke assumed, carbonite bounties. The assumption was mostly through the things Grogu had shown him, and it reminded him acutely what line of work Din chose to employ.

With a quick shake of his head, Luke turned toward “breakfast”, which turned out to be raw eggs for Grogu, ration bars for the Mandalorian, and something like toast and dried meats for Luke.

“I can survive on ration bars, you know,” Luke said pointedly as he shifted one piece of toast toward the other man before divvying up the meat between the three of them. He wasn’t completely selfless though and snagged one of the ration bars in front of the Mandalorian.

A huff that almost sounded exasperated came from him. “Just trying to be polite.”

Luke fought down the crabbiness that was edging at him from the soft crying of the Force. It was a battle he was losing. “You could be polite by letting me know what happened to my transportation.”

“You mean that beat-up X-Wing?” came the annoyed, incredulous response.

“Yes, that beat-up X-Wing that survived two Death Stars and an endless rebellion,” Luke answered drily, and with a little impatience.

The Mandalorian shifted where he sat, clearly uncomfortable talking about the war. “What’d you say your name was again?”

“You really don’t know,” Luke stated more than asked. It was a rarity these days, that someone _didn’t_ recognize him. Even if the other man hadn’t known who he was on that imperial cruiser, he had been willing to bet that _someone_ there knew his name.

Another frustrated snort. “Look, I’ve been frequenting the Outer Rim for quite some time and I don’t exactly keep up with core world bullshit.”

“Fair enough,” Luke responded and tried to ground himself in the Force. It doesn’t help much, considering that the memory of the dead man was branded on his brain, with an even quieter curiosity as to just what the hell had accomplished an injury such as that. He couldn’t tell if the feeling came from the Force or himself.

A few minutes passed in tense silence, with Grogu cooing over his eggs and gnawing at the dried meat. Luke ate his own meal, finding the dried meat to be something oceanic in nature. He sighed before putting down a half-eaten ration bar.

“I am…not used to people not recognizing me,” Luke said by way of apologizing. “My name is Luke Skywalker.” He waited for the usual tension that came with his name, but it never came.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” the Mandalorian finally asked before slipping his helmet up a scant few inches to finish the dried meat in front of him.

Luke honestly doesn’t have a response and was glad when he felt Leia tickling at his senses. They must be close enough to Coruscant then, that Leia could reach him through the Force. It wasn’t impossible, when he was in the Outer Rim, but it wasn’t as clear as he felt it now.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything; it’s just my name,” Luke said curtly enough. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, where can I find the refresher?”

The Mandalorian seemed slightly perplexed by his abrupt departure, but happy enough to have the time with Grogu. He pointed back toward the medbay. “Crew quarters are just past the medbay; there’s not many. The last one on the left.”

“Thank you,” Luke answered before taking off quickly to the directed room. Once there, he sank to the floor cross-legged, and gently urged the Force back toward the intuitive communication he often felt with Leia.

_You’ve felt it too?_

_Yes. I am on a ship with Grogu and the Mandalorian. We found something…odd on Tatooine._

**_Frown. Displeasure. Frustration._ **

_…you know I can feel that, right?_

_Oh, I’m sorry. Let’s just say our dealings with Mandalorians aren’t exactly a jolly good time to be had by all. I would think you of all people would recall._

_This one’s different, Leia. He has a saber, for one, but it’s different than anything we’ve ever seen._

_So, he’s not trying to toss you into a Sarlacc pit? Though I can’t say I’d blame him, if you’re being as evasive with him as you are with me._

**_Scoffing irritation, genuine worry._ **

_Luke, Luke, calm down. I just want to know that you’re okay. You didn’t check in when you were supposed to, and Ben is acting like a demon’s inhabited the Force._

_I’m finding out, I promise. Just don’t be surprised if I contact you from a different commlink than normal. We have to resupply soon, and I need to find out about this thing from Tatooine, but I promise, I’m fine and so is Grogu._

_Like the little gremlin would be anything other than fine so long as you give him food and shiny silver things._

**_Fondness. Family. Memory._ **

Luke abruptly shut the link down, because his memory of the Mandalorian’s face wasn’t meant for Leia. He winced at the fact that it was the equivalent of hanging up on her, could still feel her irritation. He established the link again, albeit with more care as to how much he was showing.

_I promise, I’ll check in soon, okay?_

_Be safe, okay? You’re stars know where with the galaxy knows who, and I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for something that the New Republic can check into._

_You really want the New Republic coming to Tatooine?_

**_Blunt, sharp, acceptance._ **

_…fair enough, Luke._

_I love you and I’ll be in touch. May the Force be with you._

_You too. Han and Chewie send their love. No doubt they’ll have words with you when they realize you’re with a Mandalorian._

_No doubt they’ll have words when I tell them what I’ve seen._

Without meaning to, the image of the shriveled man in the desert bled through their connection.

**_Handprint, heart, holes, life, Force, horror, death, death—_ **

_Shit, Leia, I’m sorry, no, don’t—_

_Luke, what the hell was that?_

_We’re looking into it._ A distant knocking on the door alerted Luke to the fact that he was taking quite a long time to use the fresher. _I have to go. I’ll be in touch; I promise._

**_Luke_ ** _—_

Luke severed the connection, once again effectively hanging up on her before he rose to his feet and opened the door to the room. The Mandalorian was standing there, impassive as usual, but his head tilted to approximately the same degree that Grogu’s head was where the child was perched on his armored shoulder. It was unbearably adorable, yet undeniably welcome after the uncomfortable end of his conversation with Leia.

“You good?” came the modulated voice, and Luke tried to ignore the fact that he knew what that voice sounded like without a machine.

He shrugged, suddenly aware of the fact he had no idea where his cloak was. “Cleaner than I was.”

The Mandalorian didn’t call him out on the lie, but his head tilted again, and Grogu fixed him with an accusing stare that Luke couldn’t quite get away from.

Grogu babbled suddenly, reaching for Luke. Using the Force, Luke drew the child toward himself until he was nestled close to his chest. “It’s okay, little one,” Luke said softly, drawing a gloved finger over Grogu’s ear.

The Mandalorian seemed less than settled and turned sharply. “We’re stopping for resupply. I have a bounty to cash in here. You and Grogu should stay on the ship.”

Luke found that he had very little to say before the other man left and the door hissed shut. “Well, little one, what do you say? Care for a quick trip to the fresher?”

Grogu stared at him in disapproval.

“I was only talking to Leia; you must know that,” Luke tried with a cajoling tone that earned him no favors from Grogu, who was now squirming rebelliously against him. “Grogu,” he said more firmly, “I don’t know what the threat is, and it does us no good to assume it is nothing. I know you’ve felt it, too; it’s why we went to find your father.”

Grogu still seemed unhappy, though whether it was about Luke’s statement versus the fact they were heading for the fresher, Luke wasn’t entirely sure. In any case, he steadfastly headed for the fresher for the cleaning that he was certain they both needed.

It was only when he was halfway making sure Grogu was cleaned that the thought shocked his mind.

_Shit, where was Artoo?_

XXXXX

Din didn’t normally listen to extant rumors or resupply station gossip. However, he did make it the odd habit of listening in when he heard about Mandalore. While he had largely ignored the darksaber that sat at his waist, he wasn’t completely ignorant of what happened on the planet. He already knew that between Paz and Bo-Katan, parts of his covert had slowly began relocating to Mandalore.

He was almost grateful, but also resentful, that it was so easy for Paz, Bo-Katan, and the Armorer to try and conduct the efforts to rebuild what was left of Mandalore. He equally hated it with _no_ other emotion at all that he felt no connection to the planet at all. The historical and political things that Bo-Katan seemed to instinctually understand, the things that Paz seemed to just _get_ about their culture, the wise way the Armorer balanced the two…

It was all far too much for him to remotely give a shit.

As he surveyed the two humanoid techs refueling his ship, because kark droids, he adjusted his posture to hear more closely the conversation going at the next ship over.

_“Yeah, they say the guy went out to get water, beyond the dome. Was just his turn, you know? Normally go out in pairs. When he didn’t come back, his second went to look, and found a corpse.”_

_“Yeah? What’s so special about that? Galaxy knows what the fuck is still roving around Mandalore. Dead planets only attract the dead, and they’re karking idiots for thinking otherwise.”_

_“Yeah, well, we’ve all seen what’s left of people who get eaten by banthas or krayt, or even the tuskens. There’s remains.”_

_“Get to the fucking point; Mando over there is watching.”_

The techs look at him briefly; one is, oddly enough, Kaminoan, and the one supplying most of the information (which is unsurprising). The other is humanoid enough that she is either unidentifiable through the HUD of his helmet, or simply human.

_“Look, I don’t really kriffing care about gossip. I do care that Mando over there gave us enough to ensure we get paid.”_

The Kaminoan directed bright eyes down. _“Point is, this thing had holes in its chest, but in the shape of a handprint. The other rumor being that Mandalore is being run by a shadow government that’s pretty much driven by the Empire.”_

Din stiffened, because for all of his neglect of the darksaber and title of _Manda’lor_ , he certainly doesn’t want supply stations thinking Mandalore is without protection. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized that he had left the care to others, and for what? His own comfort? His selfishness? His own _self-pity_?

Silence had been enough. Din approached the two techs with heavy footsteps, and their chatter ceased. “Tell me,” he directed to the Kaminoan. It was odd to see their species here, in a servicing position. He had no doubt that the Empire had something to do with it, but he could do little else than follow the thread. “What was on Mandalore?”

The Kaminoan eyed him without fear, but eyes drifted down to the darksaber. “A man in the deserts; supposedly was said to die of exposure. You know how desolate that planet is, don’t you, _Manda’lor_?”

Din tried but failed to stiffen at the insult. He invaded the Kaminoan’s space instead. “You know what death is, don’t you, Kaminoan?” His hand twitched toward his blaster.

The Kaminoan considered the threat and seemed to deem it truthful. “One of your kind was found in the deserts with a bloody handprint on his chest. I think you know what to do with the information.”

Din rolled his eyes without moving his helmet. Trust the Empire to work in riddles. “Are you done refueling my ship?”

The human tech waved cheerily. “Just now!”

“Good,” Din muttered, and snagged the Kaminoan by the shoulder. “May I share something with you?”

The Kaminoan swallowed, finally nervous by the physical touch that Din hardly felt through his gloves. “If you must.”

“You tell anyone I was here,” Din lowly murmured as his hand moved to tighten against the back of the Kaminoan’s neck, “I’ll make sure that not only the Bounty Guild knows this place, but the New Republic as well. I’ll also be certain that whatever Imps you’re working for know that you’re too obvious to be repeating information you’re not remotely qualified to be passing on. Are we _clear_?” His hand tightened against the sudden upshot of pulsation.

The Kaminoan seemed to understand, nodding so quickly that Din thought he’d have a head to kick off the floor.

He still tightened his hand once again. “Good to know. Have a nice day.” He left after paying the vendor with a few choice words about both the Kaminoan and the human tech. Din hoped his words were enough with a flash of the darksaber that he didn’t normally give.

Luke was waiting for him, blue eyes bright with determination and Grogu floating in a seemingly determined trance.

“Mind telling me where my X-Wing is?” Luke asked, but his voice was infused with something that nearly addled Din’s brain.

Din shook his head to free himself of it, and because the answer didn’t matter much, he brushed past Luke and to the console. “Docked with a mechanic I know on Mos Eisley. She’ll take care of your… _ship_.” He felt he could hardly call it that.

Luke bristled behind him, some indefinable energy emitting that reminded Din of when Grogu needed a nap. “It’s safe there?”

“She’s the best I know,” Din responded, flicking switches and checking gauges. “I don’t trust her droids, but she’s good.”

“Is she good with droids?” The hostility seemed to have lessened from the shorter man’s voice.

“She uses them for repair work; talks to them like family.”

“Fine then.” Luke settled into the co-pilot’s chair with Grogu in his lap. The child suddenly cooed insistently, his hands waving without coordination. “He says you have something for him.”

Din chuffed in his helmet; it came out sounding somewhat like an amused laugh. “Yeah. I do.” He fished around in his pocket until the silver ball came into his worn leathered glove. “Here ya go, kid.”

Grogu brightened considerably, enough that Din made it through his pre-flight checks almost twice as quickly as normal. There was another feeling there, something in the air, that made Din tilt his gaze toward Luke.

Luke only smiled at him; it was a brittle, fragile thing. “He’s missed you. I told you that you’d see him again.”

Din punched a button. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed heavily before inputting the coordinates to the flight nav. “I don’t mind taking you where you want to go, but I have to make a stop first.”

Luke canted his head, as if trying to find where to make eye contact as Grogu balanced the silver ball between his hands. “I can defend us, if need be.”

Din snorted, and it was undeniably a rude noise through his helmet. “We’ll be safe; of that, I know.”

“And to what place have you found that the _Manda’lor_ , a Jedi, and a foundling can go to be safe?”

With a smirk that Din _almost_ wished the _Jetii_ could see, he punched the throttle before turning to the sky. “Mandalore.”

XXXXX

When the ship landed on the deserts of Mandalore, Din wasn’t sure what he should feel. There was an undeniable anxiety and tension he assumed came from Luke; Grogu seemed calm as always, if a little antsy. It didn’t occur to Din that perhaps the apprehension came from _himself_. Either way, he led their small group with Luke and Grogu just behind. He was _Manda’lor_ , he could _do_ this.

Bo-Katan was the one who met him at the front of a shattered, dilapidated building. “What brought your sorry ass back here?” she asked unkindly.

Din froze for a moment before stiffening in front of Luke and Grogu. “I am _Manda’lor_. I have brought my foundling here.”

Bo-Katan leveled a gaze to Luke. “You have brought a _Jetii_ here.”

“I have my reasons,” Din answered forcefully. “You will allow them shelter here.”

Bo-Katan looked displeased but stepped aside. “Come inside at your own risk, _Manda’lor_.”

Din looked at Luke and Grogu, and without a doubt, he did not regret bringing them here. “Show me the body,” he murmured to Paz while Koska and Bo-Katan checked the _Jetii_ and Grogu for weapons. “You know the one. I have one on my ship.”

Paz looked surprised and Bo-Katan gave a rolling of the eyes.

“ _Manda’lor_ ,” Bo-Katan started.

“ _No_ ,” Din responded. “There is a threat to my child and a threat to the _Jetii_ that keeps him safe. Show me the fucking body.”

Paz was agreeable enough and led Din into one of the few buildings that were livable, but not by much. On what might have been a computer desk, there was a crumpled body-like form arranged on the desk. There was an attempt to rearrange the limbs into a humanoid position.

Bo-Katan kept an eye on the _Jetii_ while Din surveyed the corpse.

“What happened?” Din asked.

Paz shrugged awkwardly. “He went out to get water for his commune. He didn’t come back. His brother went out for him and found this.”

Din inspected the corpse and felt his heart stutter when he saw the faint imprint of a hand over the man’s chest. “No one has been found?”

With a puff of noise that could be interpreted as interested or not, Paz stood behind Din. “No one that could’ve done this.”

“ _Manda’lor_ , you seem to know something?” Koska asked curiously.

Din sighed. “Get this body the respect it deserves.” He clenched his fists, long accustomed to the fact that he couldn’t give into other physical urges such as touching his face. “After, I want you and Bo-Katan in a meeting.”

Paz lifted a shoulder in response. “The Armorer will want to be there.”

Din’s blood ran cold. “The Armorer?” he asked tensely.

“She’s here, with our covert. They train well.”

Din supposed that should have made him feel better. It really did not. “Look, just find a place for us to meet. Am I understood?”

Paz seemed to understand; at the very least, he started dragging the corpse away.

Din felt like he wanted to scream; the planet itself was doing him no favors. Something about this place made his soul weep, made him ache down to his bones. He tried to ignore the ache as Luke and Grogu followed him into the building, if for no other reason than to get out of the overbearing sun. He was just settled into the self-destroying behavior when a familiar voice made his spine go straight with obedience.

“ _Manda’lor_ ,” she said in her lilting, wise voice. “I feel you have much to say.” It was punctuated by the thwack of metal against metal.

Din wanted to take his helmet off. He wanted to run, scream, _fight_. He nearly fell to his knees, before settling into a bow instead. “ _A’lor_ ,” he said in respect.

The Armorer hummed. “You found his kind.”

“Yes.”

“You found a place for your covert.”

“Yes.”

“You have not found a place for yourself?”

Din stuttered. “I do not know.”

The Armorer was beating metals into submission. “What do you think?”

Din stared into her gaze, the furred t-visor, and fell back into himself. “I don’t know yet.”

“You will,” the Armorer said assuredly before thumping her hammer into another metal. She tilted her head in an angle that Din couldn’t read. “Who has seen your face?”

Din swallowed. “The only that remain alive are my clan.”

The Armorer doesn’t pause in her work. “The foundling, of course.” She slammed her hammer down. “The _Jetii_?”

“He is not an enemy,” Din responded, though his throat felt thick.

“So the _Jetii_ helps? Is he your clan?”

Din felt like the lump in his throat will swallow him like a black hole.

XXXXX

Luke could say one thing for certain—the woman standing before them now was _terrifying_ , and he had no doubt that the Mandalorian somewhat felt the same way, if it weren’t also for the overwhelming respect he could tell the man felt for the armored woman.

“ _Jetii_?” she turned to him.

With a nervous swallow, Luke wondered which approach would be best. He was definitely keeping Grogu on his person, because while he wasn’t sure how their… _clan_ felt about the Jedi, he was absolutely certain she would strike him down if need be.

“Most people just call me Luke,” he offered.

The woman slammed her hammer down again. “You have seen his face, have you not?”

“It was…well, it was kind of an accident,” Luke responded, deciding the truth would be best. “I really didn’t mean to see his face.”

“But you did,” she answered neutrally. She swung the hammer down again, sparks flying this time. “I suggest you and he communicate as to what that means for you, especially if the _Manda’lor_ has decided that you and your kind are here for protection.” She turned as a way of dismissing them.

Before Luke could question any further, he felt a gloved hand wrap around his elbow tightly and drag him away. “I can follow you just as well.” He didn’t care to think too much on the lingering warmth when the other man let go.

“Once things are… _settled_ ,” he said tightly, “We will have a discussion. Right now though, I have to try and figure out what the hell is going on here. You think you can keep you and the kid’s nose out of trouble?”

“The hostility is completely unwarranted,” Luke muttered mulishly, sounding juvenile even to his own ears. “Look, I’ve taken care of him for just as long as you have, and as you can see, he’s well.”

“Keep him that way.” The armored man sighed; it sounded like he had a headache. Luke knew the feeling. “Just…whatever your _Jetii_ magic tells you, can you let me know?”

“I don’t know that this thing is even after either of us,” Luke pointed out. “It’s more like a vague alarm.” He still wasn’t comfortable with the low-key whines the Force was still pulsing through him.

“Just let me know.” He sighed again, stepping into Luke’s space enough that Luke could feel the coolness of the beskar that had chilled in the shade of the building. Dragging a gloved finger over Grogu’s ear, the taller man leveled Luke with a stare that _definitely_ made something drag warmly in his gut. That was _absolutely_ not supposed to happen.

“I will,” Luke responded honestly, tightening his fingers around Grogu’s waist in protection. “We’ll stay right here, to be honest. Your friends don’t seem to like me much.”

A chuff of laughter escaped the vocom, as if he hadn’t meant to do it out loud. “I don’t even know if I like you that much, but I still don’t know who bombed the cantina, and if your…” He wiggled his gloved fingers. “ _Jetii_ magic is setting off alarms, I think it’s safe to say it’s a pretty big karking deal, whatever is going on.”

Luke sighed, because he wasn’t wrong. “Well, I look forward to that conversation later about whether or not you’ll have to kill me.”

The Mandalorian tilted his head. “Keep yourselves safe. I’ll be back soon.” He rubbed another finger over Grogu’s ear, making the child coo in appreciation as he waved a fist toward his hand. The taller man gave Luke another stare that almost read as hesitant before clasping his shoulder tightly. He lingered for a moment longer before leaving them alone in the building, with only the slapping of metal on metal for company.

“Okay then,” Luke sighed and opted for simply sitting where he stood. Despite the respite he had gotten from the sleep he had after passing out, that seemed like forever ago, and the tension he felt in the room was palpable. “What do you say to some meditation, little one?”

Whatever Luke had been hoping for, it hadn’t been for Grogu to suddenly squirm his way out of Luke’s arms and to the floor before toddling off toward the Mandalorian blacksmith. Luke wasn’t sure what her position was, only that she was female and clearly formidable.

Still, Luke followed Grogu into the makeshift armory where the incessant metallic pounding had finally stopped. He stood back, still watching Grogu but suddenly not wanting to infringe on what Grogu was insisting was a reunion.

Sure enough, the woman knelt to the ground and scooped him into her arms. “Oh, _ad’ika_ , the trouble being caused around here. We thought it was safe.”

At her words, Luke suddenly felt the ripples of the Force, gathering in waves like the onslaught of a tsunami. It ebbed and flowed, staticky the way the air felt before a sandstorm, before one of the monsoons on Yavin IV. It was unsettling, and Luke had the distinct impression he was about to be in for a bad time.

Something terrible was happening, and the Force was decidedly _not_ shy this time about it. By the time he knew it was coming, the only thing he could do was try and get to Grogu and the woman, but the crashing wave of overwhelming dread was already slamming through his head like someone had punted Artoo into his face.

The woman looked up just in time to see Luke face-plant in the floor as Grogu wailed out.

XXXXX

“So you will assist us in our manners of acquiring food?” came the unpleasant, hissing voice—the cadence of the tone was unbroken and unnerving.

The unnamed Moff nodded stiffly. “There are many planets, many...” the sentence faded, as the woman stuttered into silence.

“There is much food, is there not?” This was from a male with the same reptilian voice.

“Yes,” the Moff insisted. “Will you aid us?”

“What is your name?” came the throaty female voice, sharp nails only slightly less horrific than the ragged bloody gash upon her right hand.

The Moff trembled under the threat. “Moff…”

_“Tell me…”_

“I am Esau.”

The female reptilian creature laughed cruelly. “You have no Jakob, then?” She turned to her lieutenant. “Note this in the files that there may be a…twin, to this being?”

The male nodded before scurrying off, leaving behind only the reptilian woman, her assistant, and a very confused Moff Esau, who while not surprised, didn’t seem to know how the woman knew she had a twin brother, if only brother by the Order.

“Now, you have agreed that our soldiers will aid your cause; are you willing to prove your assistance of our need of sustenance?”

Esau nodded, almost frantically. “My orders come from the First, the highest order of our galaxy.”

The female tilted a ghastly smile. “Good then. _You_ will suffice.”

Moff Esau barely had time to argue before a hand slammed into her chest with a shocking connection that had nothing yet _everything_ to do with the Force. A whining, satisfied keen came from the alien woman as Esau withered away into skin over bones and hair grayed over. Removing her hand, the woman licked at the blood in satisfaction before turning to her returning lieutenant.

“Guide,” she instructed sharply.

The male lieutenant returned quickly. “Yes, my queen.”

The wraith queen, Chaos, turned back to the lieutenant. “You’ll continue to see that our needs are met?” she asked in a tone that suggested she expected nothing less than a positive response.

Guide nodded his head with a slant, the starburst tattoo across his face hidden by unruly white locs. “Of course, my queen.”

Chaos barely glanced at the body. She started to turn before turning her head like a serpent over her shoulder. “Make for the planet with the strange domes. Their people were oddly vital. We must have a strong food source if we are to establish a foothold.” She left then, glancing a hand across Guide’s face in a way that made him shudder.

Guide sighed, but he would do as asked. He clamped a hand on Seer, the brother in charge of nav. “Make a course for this planet. Our beachhead may be here.”

Seer nodded and punched in the coordinates for Mandalore.

Turning to walk through the bowels of the hive ship, Guide didn’t stop until he reached a quiet viewing area. The lines of hyperspace seemed almost different, in another galaxy, and even with the superiority of the larger, more regenerative hive ship, it had still taken close to three years to make the jump from Pegasus.

Queen Chaos seemed to deem it worth it once they had arrived on the edge. Guide didn’t make a habit of lying when there were clearly so many lives, a _variety_ , even, that they never would have found in the civil war-torn Pegasus galaxy.

His lips curled in a slight sneer. Guide only wondered about the validity of the sharp looking group they had just struck a deal with; they seemed naïve enough, but who knew the kind of power they held across their randomly scattered bases? If they needed larger numbers for fighting, they were clearly regrouping from a rather large loss.

Guide shook the thoughts away carelessly. It wasn’t his place to question his Queen, no matter how his gut told him to.

_“This stinks, Todd. You know it, I know it, and if I were there, you’d damn well do something about it.”_

The voice of John Sheppard was just as laconically mocking as usual, and Guide wonders if that meant anything.

XXXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> ad'ika: son/daughter (I like to think of this one kinda like mijo, or mija)  
> Manda'lor: Ruler of Mandalore  
> Jetii: Jedi
> 
> Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm channeling grumpy!Luke with GOFORIT!DinDjarin.
> 
> Sue me.
> 
> *shrugs*
> 
> While Luke's Mando'a may've been mangled, it's not like too many people alive still speak it, no?


End file.
